The China Pearl Inn
Literotica
07:05 Mar 07 2007
Times Read: 594
From a role-play I had participated in using my character of Denise Âmesang; although Literotica is a site for adult fiction, this first segment (and the only one I cared to remember) is fairly clean.
Why was she here in this land? She had no business in China, or anywhere else for that matter. Most nights she just preferred lounging around in her apartment starring up at the ceiling as the time ticked away, or she'd go off for a walk at night letting only the darkness of the sleeping city and the bright, twinkling stars overhead be her only comfort. Yet all too soon morning would come and, with it, the noise and the fast-paced rhythms of city life. How she had grown to hate the city and it's microcosm of a universe, all the people scurrying about like cockroaches when the lights are turned on. Society seemed like nothing more than a breeding ground for the vile, the corrupt, the lazy, the ignorant, and the down-right idiotic. When she had left her home for America she had believed she would find peace and happiness in the so-called, 'Land of the free', but here she only found hypocrisy and ruin. At times she supposed she should count herself lucky that she had found a job as an assistant at an old book shop that paid extraordinarily well, thus allowing her to keep up payments on her small apartment while enjoying some of the finer things in life: designer clothes off of the more eclectic racks, fine dishes she could only have found in her own homeland until then, raving clubs and bars filled with all sorts of people, both interesting and despicable. She had a comfortable life, and yet still she griped. She was better than the homeless she'd see here and there wandering the streets for a handout, but instead of giving them aid she'd only sneer at what she deemed was a pathetic existence. It was their own fault that they ended up that way, after all, wasn't it? They could blame whomever they wanted, but every man and woman had the power to control their own destiny. If she ended up on the streets herself, some day, she would have no one else to blame but herself. She had the means to survive if that were to come to pass, of course...
Ah, but that doesn't quite explain why she's in China, now, does it? Well, the young woman had some time off being owed her and she decided to spend it elsewhere in the world, in a place that seemed free from the corruption of the powerful and the downcast of the weak and pitiful. So, with a swipe of her hand she set the globe aspinnin', letting her finger and a blind eye choose her fate. Uzbekistan didn't seem like quite the place she was dreaming of, however, so giving it no other thought she decided to visit China. She knew little save whatever she glanced over in history books, but the place always held some sort of fascination in her heart. Just the rich history of the land and it's people seemed to intrigue her, for there was so much honor and discipline to be found there, not to mention the culture and heritage. Not only that, but she was rather curious as to what real Chinese food tasted like; the Americans seemed to have a way of perverting dishes from the foreign lands that once made up a majority of their original populace. Taco Bell? French Fries? These were not acceptable to her finicky palate. Packing up a suit case with some of her best clothing and accessories, as well as filling her purse with a camera and several hundred dollars, she took the earliest flight out of New York City towards the Orient. She didn't expect to take too many pictures or even spend more than would be needed for food and lodging, but among her interests in China was it's fashion. How she adored the qípáo; it's elegant, form fitting design was both attractive and exotic while also being comfortable and casual. It was the only dress she could see herself in, everything else back home being just too disgusting for her tastes. Why women felt it necessary to play around with their breasts or squeeze themselves into little, black clothes that were one size too small was beyond her understanding. Why couldn't they just be happy with who they were? Then again, if they were fat and lazy and weak, she could see why they'd be displeased to begin with, but a mere dress wasn't going to change anything.
She, however, had always been quite proud of the figure that she bore and had worked hard to shape. She was by no means tall, nor was she small; a decent five feet and four inches not including the RSVP Calista high-heels she had brought with her; dreadfully uncomfortable but they always looked so good on her, especially with her favored mid-thigh, black, hold-up stockings. Regular trips to the gym had given her a lean, muscular build which was far from competition material but still able to keep a slender and vivacious figure. Her youth she should thank, as well, for at only nineteen years of age her body would not sag for some time, and she would try to shun off aging for as long as she could. Amongst her rigid form were two tattoos, one on each shoulder, Kanji that depicted 'kon' on the right and 'chi' on the left, both symbolizing her identity and furthering her exotic appearance. A number of outfits she had worn from time to time that would show off her figure in various ways, either as a young woman brimming with sexual energy, a broad who could punch out men twice her size or, her favorite, the qípáo, which gave her a look of such elegance and nobility so as to feel like a baroness. Yes, that's the word. Like in that song, 'Killer Queen'. Who knew Brits could write a song so perfectly about her, a woman born long after it's inception? And tonight, of all nights, she bore that look. The establishment that she was standing before was called the 'China Perl In' according to her travel map, but even she knew enough of the English language to know that it was a debauched translation. Still, this was just the beauty and majesty that she had been hoping to find in this land, and as she closed her eyes for a moment and just stopped to breathe and take in everything around her, she felt as though she were far from the modern world and back in the ancient days of China's glorious past, when emperors were worshipped like gods and the philosophers spoke with greater wisdom than many of the teachers today.
In a local shop earlier that day she had come across a most exquisite magenta qípáo, the outer edges trimmed with gold lace and the frog clamp fitted tightly in place. The dress was ankle length with slits going up the full length of each thigh, both of which were covered by her stockings exposing only the tops of her hips, her feet adorned by her stilettos. No underwear of any kind did she wear, for not only did the feeling of going bare-assed while wearing her stockings and heels give her this surge of sexual exuberance, but just the sensation she got from her skin touching the silk of her dress was completely indescribable. Upon the front of her dress climbing from bottom to top was a great, green dragon, it's fiery red tongue and golden eyes displayed in a visage of strength and clout. Over her left shoulder she wore her purse while in her right hand she held a cigarette holder ever so daintily, visions of Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' flashing in her mind. The smoke that curled lightly from the cigarette did not smell terrible, but she would keep it away from any that showed distaste for it. If anything went against her delicious appearance, it would have been the rows of small, silver hoops that were fasted to the tops and backs of her ears, the lobe less bottoms ending with a single, larger hoop. Yet such was a small trifle when compared to her face. None had ever considered her ugly, but she would never appear on the cover of a fashion magazine unless it were 'Goth Weekly', but then even that notion sounded absurd. Her hair was of a golden sheen, darker towards the hairline than on the sides, cut quite short against the curvature of her head with two long, slender bangs hanging off from the middle of the hairline's front, appearing almost like antennae. Often in her youth she was mistaken for a boy! Her face was round, but the jaw line strong; the nose and chin small and not very pronounced. A single mole she wore on the upper left cheek bone which helped to make her appear older than she really was.
It was her eyes that always got the most attention. They were large and deep and soulful, yet they gave off an empty gaze that could stare straight through you. They were the eyes of a person who had a rich history, one that remained a mystery to all, even unto herself at times. And their color.. their color was something to take note of. Blood-red her eyes appeared to be in the light's reflection, for amongst the many shades of brown these were quite peculiar. It was with these eyes that she looked over the people that were already inhabiting the inn, knowing not a single one (for, after all, she had never been here before) and desiring no conversations at this time less one of the wittier folk speak with her first. If anything, all she desired at the moment was a place to sit down to cool off her feet after a longer than-what-it-really-was walk. The seats were quite cozy, and the full touch of silk against her bum did soothe her despaired soul a bit more. With a curl of smoke blown from her lips she sat back and closed her eyes, already beginning to feel more relaxed. When she opened them again, she looked back out across the room, and a sly smile formed on obsidian lips that contrasted against her usually pale complexion. "Well now.." she spoke slowly and softly, her thick, French accent always present in her words. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad as to speak with some of the locals, no?" She pouted for but a moment, but smiled again, wondering who she would prey on first. It wasn't very often that she felt compelled to converse with anyone, but her soul seem revitalized and it would be a miracle to meet people other than the noisy, rude folk she had left half-a-world away. Biting down gently on the tip of the holder, she breathed in some smoke and poured it back out her lips as she held an upraised elbow in her free hand, the hand holding the cigarette being used to rest her lower cheek on. A night filled with marvelous possibilities... how she had waited for this...
Hack the Hacker
The Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza
07:01 Mar 07 2007
Times Read: 597
From the 23rd of Cermië in the 3019th year of the Third Age, during my time as a servant of the Dark Lord Sauron in the land of Mordor (July 15th, 2006). Someone had recently hacked the forum, and it was our job to, well, "hack the hacker". My most cherished compliment would come from the instigator of the thread: "I honestly felt like I was reading something from Poe."
This wasn’t the Black Pits, but the smell of blood and flesh and death in the air seemed to cause something within me to snap. I had been feeling rather.. crummy, for lack of a nicer word, and lately I had been wanting to do something to relieve this tormenting pain that lay at the depths of my black hearts. Since I couldn’t just destroy everyone around me out right, I assumed it would be healthier for everyone involved if I merely chose one target; then, everything that I had planned on doing to everyone would be merged into one, slow torture involving said target. Oh, yes, this was going to be marvelous! A sadistic, truly dæmonic grin creeped across my face as a glint of insanity filled my eyes. I was feeling hungry, and although I never dined on the flesh of my own kind on a regular basis, I was interested as to how this person’s flesh would taste once I was through with them; if nothing else, I could atleast dine on the blood. Ah, and there’s out victim right now, laying helplessly on a table, each limb nailed to a thick wooden table within a massive cell that could hold several trolls. He was still alive, and I was thankful for that, for I wanted him to feel every single bit of pain that everyone else had ever caused me. It could be argued that I was wrongfully taking all my troubles out on an innocent, but from where I stood there was no such thing as ’innocense’. We are all guilty of some crime, be it great or small. I, for one, am guilty of many, least of all the fact that I exhisted for no other reason than to leave this world in despair.
As I walked into the cell the man’s eyes immediately darted to me, and I noticed his weak struggle at trying to lift his limbs off the table despite the heavy nails that had been pounded within. "So, now.. this is your end. I bet when you were a child growing up in the safety of your parents home you never dreamed even in your wildest nightmare’s that your life would bring you here. You probably thought you’d go on a few adventures in your youth before meeting a beautiful woman who tickled your fancy, raise a family of your own, and eventually grow old and die. Well, kind sir, by the time this is over you will have felt as though you’ve aged. Yes.. I plan on having you experience a thousand years of pain!" Kneeling down I unsheathed the Orc-dagger from my boot, appearing as little more than an ordinary carving knife without the crimson glow brought on by the Eldar. Sweat poured down the man’s brow as I slowly brought the dagger closer to his face, every inch taking an eternity to reach him. "Now, don’t you worry. I shall spare you the pain of seeing all of this..." I replied, my voice soft, calm, and as smooth as silk, filled with the poison of my demented mind. The tip of the dagger was driven beneath one of eyelids until it made it’s way completely around the small orb, severing the the chord that tied it to the head and, with a gentle pushed, removed one eye from the empty socket. His screams filled the empty room, no one but the two of us around to hear it. Soon enough, the second eye was removed, and I marveled at the sight of his now bloody eyelids struggling to close from the pain. I set each eye on either side of his head as I racked the dagger down the side of his face towards his mouth.
"Tut, tut.. such noise you are making! You’re going to wake all of Mordor if you keep this up!" I commented, and with a firm grip of my free hand I grabbed his lower jaw and held it open, plunging the dagger into his mouth and removing his swolen tongue, setting it beside him as I had done with the eyes. Then came his teeth, the cutting of which was a little more difficult than I figured; several of them became lodged in his throat. He was still making a sound, but it was muffled now, becoming a gurgle as his mouth began to fill with his own blood. My dagger continued to make it’s way down his body, stopping at the middle of the chest. Ah, such memories this moment was bringing back to me, and I felt the pain in my own chest as I recalled the day that Uruk stabbed me, nearly taking my heart out. It was time for this man to experience the pain that I had felt. His chest was more difficult to stab through cleanly, but eventually it punctured through and I carved a straight line down to his stomach, leaving enough room for me to dig my fingers into him and crack his ribcage open. Such wonders! His heart was throbbing like mad, sounding like thunder with each and every thump it made. How long would it take before it stopped? How much pain can this man endure before it finally gives out? I was curious to find out. Beside his heart were his lungs, and with the dagger I made little holes here and there, nothing of any noticable size but enough to deter his ability to breath. His body was beginning to shake as his cries were becoming little more than short bursts of whimpering; no doubt he was praying for the end to come quickly, but I would not have this. Never had I been able to torture anyone like this, and with all this fun I was now having why should I stop now?
I ignored his torso for the moment, turning my attention towards his fingers. "These fingers have brought the black land a lot of needless trouble, or so I here. I’ll make sure they don’t do so again." I brought the dagger down on one finger, hearing the delicious slice of flesh and the thump as the dagger hit the table after going through the bone; the flesh was soft and weak but the bone always required a little extra strength. First one finger was removed, and then another, and then another, and then another. Before long all that remained on his hands were five holes with crimson fluid leaking from them. And then his hands themselves were no more, as they, too, were removed, the nails having been hammered into his wrists. The fingers and hands were set beside him just as his other parts were, each finger going aligned in it’s proper place. His whimpering was quiety, and I was touched as he seemed to be struggling to cry. I set the dagger down for the moment, for what came next would require a blade far larger. He heard me unsheath his sword because his head turned in my direction. Haha, was this fool still worried about what might happen to him now? You’d think at this point what remained of his mind would be focused only on death. Yes, death would grant him peace and happiness. It would indeed be a paradise compared to what was happening to him now. With sword in hand I began the chopping, for the arms at the shoulders, and then the legs right below the crotch. Tsk, one the one hand this left him free from the confining nails, but on the other, well, it was quite humours seeing him wriggle around like a worm. Yes, worm, wriggle! The next slice of my sword came towards his head; not anywhere near the neck, mind you, for I wanted his body to die of it’s own accord. No, this came just at the the top of the brow, a clean slice fully exposing the rotting mess within his vile head.
I immediately began poking my finger into the grey matter that lay within, the tissue soft and warm and wet, each pressure sending a shock wave to ripple through his body. There was something I had planned for it but it would have to wait a moment as I returned to his torso, the cut I had made into him exposing not only his heart and lungs but everything else, as well. With both my hands I dug deep into this goey mess, pulling out as much of his entrails as I could and tossing them to the side; they’d make a great meal for the wargs. Finally his heart seemed to be beating it’s last, each thump coming several seconds apart from each other. Yes, all was coming near it’s end as I took from my pocket a fine, thin metal needle, saving it for just this very moment. One end had a hook and was placed into a nostril. I forced up into mind until I saw it poke straight through his brain, and with great strength I began swirling it around inside his cranium, moving it back and forth as I did so, twisting and tearing at the matter until it was becoming a lumpy, goey mess, the consistancy weakened just enough for me to pull right out through his nose. By the time I had finished, he had long since passed from this world, and as I looked up I noticed the ceiling was now a foot above my head; well, in truth it wasn’t really a ceiling. When the day started the massive cube of rock was a good twenty feet above me, lowering ever so slowly with each passing second. I gathered my supplies and quickly made it out of the cell, taking a spot on the floor as I continued to watch the rock fall. Soon it pressed against his body, forcing it down, causing the legs of the table to snap and break, the table crashing to the ground. Had he been alive this would’ve given him a momentary reprieve, but it didn’t last very long. Again, the rock met with his body, and this time nothing lay beneath him but solid earth. My eyes grew wider and wider as his body was pressed upon by all that weight, becoming flatter and flatter until I could hear the popping of his splintered bones. His head crushed very slowly, the two eye sockets merging into one, one end of the jaw breaking outright and moving at an angle to touch the other end, causing his head to bend unnaturally (as if any of this were natural to begin with!). It was night by the time the rock rested on the ground, not so much as a hair’s width lay between the stone surface and the cold, uncarring earth.
It was finally over. Taking my things I made my way back to the surface world. All the pain and suffering I had been feeling seemed to melt away, and my soul felt a little more healed... and far darker.
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